


Everything to Lose

by honestlyrachel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2018-10-22 02:53:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 20,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10688313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honestlyrachel/pseuds/honestlyrachel
Summary: It’s not that you don’t like Quidditch, it's just that Quidditch isn't EVERYTHING in life.  But for someone who lives and breathes Quidditch, could you be their everything?Oliver Wood x (female)Reader





	1. The Night Before

**January, 2000**

“Do you remember Oliver Wood?” your boyfriend Steve asked from behind the Daily Prophet.

Steve had been your partner for the last two years. Steve had a job at the local bank branch and you were a junior editor at Witch Weekly. Both having 9 to 5 jobs made living together pretty easy, and you’d gotten quickly adjusted to Steve’s routines. His morning one consisted of tea, marmalade toast, and the newspaper.

Not that your morning routine was too different from his. Instead of sitting at the kitchen table you preferred to have your breakfast on the couch, looking out the window and watching people begin their day. You were usually a bit groggy in the mornings as well, so you couldn’t trust your memory too much. “Um, was he the Scottish bloke? Quidditch Captain, few years above us?”

“Captain of _your_ Quidditch team,” Steve corrected.

Whilst you had been sorted into Gryffindor, Steve had been a Hufflepuff. Suited him well, his happy, friendly, and patient attitude had been what had attracted you to him in the first place. You weren’t exactly the easiest witch to date, and your rash nature had landed you in trouble with McGonagall more times than you could count.

“He’s been announced as Puddlemere United’s new Keeper.”

You nodded your head, not really giving Steve your full attention. “Oh, good on him, then."

It was nice to hear that someone was doing well for themselves. Wood would’ve had to have been two or three years above you at Hogwarts and you couldn’t remember much about him that didn’t involve a broomstick.

To be perfectly honest you couldn’t really give a pigs arse about Quidditch. Steve (much like half of Great Britain) was obsessed with the sport and admitting your indifference to it could quite easily make you a Negative Nancy. Steve was without a doubt Puddlemere United’s biggest fan. When he’d moved into your apartment his obsession had been brought to your attention slowly with familiar jerseys and scarves sharing your closest and then one day after he did the washing you came home to find your pillow cases and bedspread changed to yellow and blue. Next, the mugs and coasters bearing the blue and yellow crest began sneaking into the kitchen.

Steve had been Quidditch obsessed at Hogwarts too, so this was no surprise. The two of you had graduated together in 1997, the year before the Battle of Hogwarts. You hadn’t dated during school, but your friendship had been on the flirty side. Steve was probably one of the only lads at Hogwarts that you hadn’t hexed for trying to put a move on you. You had remained friendly the next year, and had become reacquainted during the Battle of Hogwarts in 1998. After battling side by side in 1998 the two of you had found comfort in one another, and a relationship blossomed. You asked Steve to move to your hometown of Dorset which he had done, and here you were.

Although you recounted this all as if it had happened yesterday, it had in fact been two years since Harry Potter had conquered Voldemort.

You had to snap out of your trip down memory lane when Steve called your name. “Sorry, was miles away. What were ya saying?”

Steve shook his head, rolling his eyes. It was typical of you to wonder off in your thoughts. He still hadn’t gotten quite used to your daydreaming. “Tomorrow night Puddlemere’s playing. Are you joining me? Wouldn’t mind congratulating Wood either, if I saw him…”

Steve had a yearly membership so he could see every Puddlemere game. If it wasn’t torturous enough having to sit through the game then standing around the locker room afterwards waiting for the players would probably be the death of you.

However this was something Steve enjoyed and it was nice of him to ask you to join. “Of course," you replied. "Love to.”


	2. I've Just Seen A Face

**January, 2000**

You apparated just outside the stadium in East Dorset. From what you’d gathered from in the past, Quidditch games usually rotated between Friday and Saturday evenings, or Sunday afternoons. Tonight's game fell on a Friday evening so you’d come straight after you'd finished work. This morning Steve had provided you with your ticket and instructed you to meet him in the second stall towards the back. After having your bag checked at the gate you made your way through the unruly crowd to find your boyfriend.

“[Name], up here,” Steve yelled, waving frantically.

You could tell he was already a tad drunk but very, very excited for the game tonight. You gave a fond smile, pushing your way past another couple to get to your row.

“How was work?” Steve asked, taking a swig of beer. “Got you one, thought you’d need it.”

You gladly accepted the plastic cup from Steve with a quick 'ta'. Despite being one of the only people in your friend circle to have a boyfriend you were always up for a drink. You plopped your arse down on the cold seat and took a mouthful of beer. Winter wasn’t quite over yet, but you were just glad it wasn’t raining. You didn't hesitate to place a cushioning charm on the seat, knowing your butt would go numb soon enough.

“Eh, nothing special happened today, though Worthington did ask – "

Steve jumped up from his seat, clapping. “Yes, the cheerleaders are coming back out.” He whistled at the beautiful and fit girls performing some sort of mid-air aerobics routine – a routine that’d have you in hospital in a second if you were to attempt it.

Steve's wolf whistling didn't bother you because you weren't the sort to get jealous easily and it was those girls _job_ to be beautiful and fit. Your job was to try not to stab someone with a quill when another article about Viktor Krum's biceps came into the editing room. What did bother you was that Steve was quick to cut you off. It seemed as though he only asked you about your day superficially. You wouldn't bring up this situation as a prime example seeing as there were half-naked girls, beer, and Quidditch involved, though you had made a mental note to yourself about Steve's (lack of) interest in your day.

As the cheerleaders took their seats at the sideline the stadium lights dimmed and you knew that the game was about to begin.

A voice came on over the speakers, a small amount of static making you wince. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to East Dorset Stadium, home of our beloved, and marvellously talented team – PUDDLEMERE UNITED.” Your cheer was echoed by the other hundred people as the announced began calling out each player, identified by their surname and position. “And finally, Puddlemere’s newest recruit, let’s hope we get to KEEP him, give it up for Mr OLIVER WOOD!” The crowd roared with approval as the brown hair boy flew out into the arena, waving to the audience as he did his lap.

Once the noise had died down and Wood had taken his position by the goals the announcer called out the opposition – the all-female team - the Holyhead Harpies. A few good-humoured boos were heard here and there but the Harpies must have had a few fans in as another stall across from yours erupted into applause.

As the players had secured their position on the field the game begun. You cheered along when Puddemere scored and groaned with disappointment the few times the Harpies got past Wood. An hour and fifteen minutes in Puddlemeres Seeker caught the golden snitch and won them the game - much to the approval of the majority of the audience.

It took about twenty minutes for the crowd to properly calm down and finally begin exiting the stadium. Families were making their way home with their young ones, and young adults were making their way to the pub.

You turned to Steve who was still coming down from his high. “Good game, huh!” Heck, if you were going to watch a match you might as well enjoy it.

“Bloody brilliant!” Steve hummed excitedly. “I’m going to go down to the lockers and see if any the team will come out. Was a great game, would love to congratulate them.”

You knew it was coming and you couldn’t dampen Steve’s spirit even if you wanted to, so the two of you made your way down to the locker room. The cool air was making the hair on your arms stand up, though the fans drunkenly singing Puddlemere’s anthem was making the standing around bearable.

You suddenly started to giggle. “I feel like a 13 year old at her first music concert.”

Steve dismissed your comment with a small snort.

“Hey, you don’t mind if I nip to the loo, do ya? If the team comes out and asks you to go ‘back stage’, go without me, alright groupie?” you teased, giving Steve a quick peck on the cheek before dashing off to find the public restroom.

Towards the back of the group waiting you noticed a few younger looking witches with freshly applied lipstick on. One particular group couldn’t have been older than 18. “I hope Williams and McKay come out to sign autographs, I’m going to have ‘em sign each of these,” a girl cackled, pointing at her breasts.

Now it was your turn to snort. _Ah, to be young and carefree._

After you had freshened up (aka ridden your body of 3 beers) you headed back outside only to find that the stadium lights had been turned off. Must be trying to clear people out so the team could leave in peace. From what you could tell the place was rather empty now so you wondered if everyone had been invited ‘back stage’. You took a seat on the metal row of chairs that lined the wall of the building. Steve wouldn’t go home without you so he’d have to be round here somewhere. You could wait out his fangirling.

“You alright there?” A pleasant male voice broke through the cool night air and disrupted your thoughts. As it was dark you couldn’t properly make out the persons face, but the voice certainly wasn’t Steve’s. Their body shape was slightly different to Steve's as well, this bloke was much broader.

You straightened your posture for no apparent reason. “Fine, thanks.”

“What’re you doin’ out here by yourself?” he asked, still standing a few feet away from you and sounded genuinely interested.

“Waiting for my boyfriend.”

“Is he inside? Would you like me to get him?”

“No, no, I don’t want to be a bother. Not sure where he’s gone off to, I’m fine to wait,” you rambled off trying to get rid of the man. You were quite keen for Steve to come back now so you didn’t have to be alone out here with a stranger.

“Alright, alright.” You could see his mouth widening into a defeated grin. “No skin off my nose,” he mumbled. He went to walk away, but turned back to look at you. “So you weren’t waiting out here to meet the team then?”

You gave a rather rude and loud laugh. “HA! That’s not my cup of tea. I’d rather be sleeping in my warm bed right about now, or at the pub.” How the hell had this conversation carried on so long? Where the hell was Steve?

From what you could see the stranger was still grinning. “Shame. Well, have a good night.”

When the man turned away you saw a lumpy object slung over his shoulder. It had got to be a bag. And who the heck would have such a large broomstick size bag? And a Scottish accent this far south of England? _Shit_. Had you just somewhat insulted Puddlemere’s newest team member?


	3. Help!

**February, 2000**

It was days later that Steve finally shut up about meeting Puddlemere United and he still hadn’t let up about getting his shirt signed by the whole team. You hadn’t mentioned your run in with Wood and were quite happy to avoid reliving that situation. It wasn’t as though you were embarrassed that you had admitted that you disliked Quidditch, it was that you had mentioned that fact to a Quidditch player. That was the equivalent of telling Snape that potions class was dull. A stupid mistake (that you’d also made, but hell, you’d forget that happened as well). _Finesse wasn’t your greatest skill._ So despite Steve’s invitation to go to the local pub (The Royal Oak) tonight you decided not to go in case you ran into the Puddlemere team. From what Steve had been saying you guessed that he’d overheard someone in the locker room mention said pub and he was probably hoping to grab another autograph if he could...

So uncharacteristically your plan for the night was to put on your pyjamas ridiculously early and work on the book you had been writing for the last 2 years.

“Do you know where my black shoes are?”

“Closet? Or by the front door? Probably closet.”

You heard Steve fumble around in your bedroom before saying ‘accio shoes’.

Steve came out of the bedroom and sat down next to you, tying up the laces hastily. “Have a good evening.” He gave your leg a squeeze before standing up, brushing off his trousers and walking to the door.

Once Steve had left you placed your book down on the coffee table and closed your eyes. You had every intention of working on your own novel however the madness of the last week had caught up to you and before you knew it you felt yourself dozing off.

It was an odd tapping on the window that had you nearly jumping out of your skin. The street you lived in was quiet this time of night. When you had identified where the noise was coming from you stood up and groggily made your way to the window. A large brown owl was flapping outside. You lifted up the window to let it inside, cursing at the gust of cool air that snuck in as well. The owl neatly dropped a letter in a white envelope on your coffee table. Before opening the letter you went into the kitchen to fetch the owl some water. It perched itself on the top of a wooden chair and you could’ve sworn it looked mad. _How long had it been out there, poor thing?_

You went back to the lounge room and picked up the letter that was addressed to Steve. You weren’t familiar with the handwriting but the word URGENT in front of Steve's name convinced you to open the letter up.  
  
_‘Dear Steve,_  
_Your father is not feeling well. We have taken him to St. Mungo’s tonight._  
_Please meet us as soon as possible.  
_Martha’_ _

 

 

Oh God. You dashed to the door and grabbed your dark blue trench coat that hanging on the coat rack. You quickly crammed your feet into your wellingtons and shoved the letter into your coat pocket. Clutching your wand you pushed open the front door and disapparated to the street The Royal Oak was on.

You ended up a few seconds walk away from the entrance to The Royal Oak. It was full to the brim when you arrived, with smokers standing outside despite the coldness of the night. You jogged up the two small steps at the entrance and peering inside it was obvious that finding Steve was going to be a struggle. Not only that, but every bloody bloke in here was wearing a Puddlemere jersey. You knew this pub quite well and guessed that by this point if Steve’s group wasn’t at the bar then they’d be downstairs in the seated area.

“Haven’t I seen you before?”

You went to properly look at the person who was blocking your way downstairs and was seconds away from being jinxed. Until that moment your focus had purely been on pushing past every prat in here until you found Steve. But it wasn’t a prat you were making eye contact with, but Oliver Wood. He hadn’t changed much from what you could remember. Brown hair that was scruffy despite it not being very long, warm brown eyes, a nice smile, all complimented by a well built physique… it had been years since you had seen Oliver Wood this close (and not in the dark). Yep, this good-looking specimen just happened to have been Quidditch Captain as well, you know, just to make sure _every single bloody girl at Hogwarts_ fancied him.

But why would Oliver remember you now when he hadn’t remembered you the other night? You’d both been in Gryffindor but years apart… you can’t say you would’ve been very memorable. You spent your first 3 years with your head down, scribbling away into your diary that was full of drivel.

Your hesitation to answer Oliver’s question didn’t end the conversation. “You’re the lass that was waitin’ for her boyfriend after the game last week!” he said triumphantly, proud that he’d remembered precisely where he knew you from. He wasn’t drunk; he was actually holding a glass of water so you couldn’t blame the grog for his crappy memory.

Well any doubt you’d had about who you’d spoken to that night was gone. You’d definitely told Oliver Wood that you’d rather be boring and in bed at 11pm than meet Quidditch players. _And then_ you almost laughed at the fact that Oliver remembered you from last week but couldn’t recall going to Hogwarts with you. Ah well, it wasn’t as though Hogwarts was the only magical school for witches and wizards. Can’t blame a guy for not recalling every face.

“Look I do hate to be rude, even though I’m sure you’d beg to differ, but I don’t have time to chat. I’m trying to find my boyfriend.”

“What, you still can’t find him? He must know a really good hidin’ spot.”

You would’ve loved to have given him a cheeky comeback but you couldn’t engage in frivolous conversations right now. “I’m a git, I know, but it’s urgent.”

It wasn’t hard to maneuvered past Oliver at this point but you did catch two witches sitting nearby wearing very sour expressions on their faces. To you, this confirmed that you had been rude yet again.

“Sorry!” you quickly yelled back towards the general area Oliver had been standing in, just to be somewhat courteous and save face.

 _“And just look at what she’s wearing…”_ one of the witches muttered all too loudly, eyeing you up and down.

Oh yes, you were in your pyjamas. That were going to smell like (spilt) beer and cigarette smoke by the time you arrived at the hospital with Steve. _Perfect._


	4. I Should Have Known Better

**March, 2000**

Steve’s father had returned to a somewhat steady state and was allowed home a week after the scare. Steve hadn’t been all too talkative with you since you had left the hospital together that night. He seemed particularly shaken and had barely thanked you for even rushing to pub to tell him about the emergency. Steve had been spontaneously taking days off work to journey home to his family. You pretended that it didn’t hurt each time he left and didn’t invite you. Hell, he barely even told you when he was going. Instead you’d come home from work to an empty apartment. The situation with his father was important to him and important to you too. If Steve wanted time alone with his family you’d rather him tell you that to your face than just ignore you. In light of the situation the lack of communication between the pair of you wasn’t worth starting a fight over. You didn’t want to give Steve anything else to be upset about.

Tonight was the first Friday night in three weeks that Steve was actually there when you got home from work.

“How’re you feeling?” You had just gotten home and were taking your shoes off by the front door when you asked Steve the quick question.

Steve looked up at you from the parchment he was bent over. “I’m trying to put together a book about my father’s life."

You dropped your wand on the kitchen table and pulled out a seat next to Steve. You reached over to a piece of parchment only to have Steve’s hand jump down on the other end of the paper. You immediately retracted your hand and cleared your throat out of embarrassment.

“…Sorry,” Steve said quietly. He took off his wire glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. You realised how tired he looked. “Sorry, [Name]. I didn’t mean to do that… It’s just that it’s not finished and … and -”

“It’s private,” you finished for him. “It’s ok, Steve. I shouldn’t have – “

“With everything going on… I’m… I’m a bit on edge.”

“It’s fine, honestly… Look, do you want to go out for dinner or a drink or something?” you offered, thinking a night out might take his mind off his father, or at least take the ease off his formidable writing task.

“Were you not listening to me?” Steve blurted out. “I’m busy – You don’t bloody understand, do you?...You never listen…” he muttered bitterly.

You gritted your teeth together to stop yourself from snapping back at Steve. It wasn’t the correct time to get into an argument. He didn’t mean what he had said about you, he was just upset over his dad. You had to admit his anger was surprising, seeing as Steve was usually such a calm and happy person. The Battle of Hogwarts had seen you both lose friends to Voldemort and relying on each other to get through that tough time was what had brought you together. For Steve to be pushing you away now was hurtful and unnerving.

“Alright. Well I haven’t got anything for dinner, so I was planning on going to The Royal Oak,” you replied coolly. “You’re welcome to join but if not I hope you get your work done.”

If Steven didn’t want your support right now then you weren’t going to sit by like a patient Hufflepuff would. You were fine eating dinner by yourself because you weren’t self conscious enough to care what others thought of you. Plus it was a Friday night so you’d surely run into one or two of your friends there at some point.

After changing out of your cream pencil skirt and white blouse you walked back into the kitchen to collect your handbag and wand. You snuck a look at Steve who was ignoring you and was hunched over the parchment on the table. You sighed and rubbed a hand across his back for a fleeting moment to see if you could get any sort of reaction from him. He didn’t move so with a roll of your eyes (out of his view) you collected your own quill and papers from the lounge room table, shoved them into your bag, and exited the apartment. --

It was quite early to be at the pub on a Friday night however the up side of this was that you could snag a table upstairs, order your dinner without a fuss, and FINALLY begin writing more of your book. The reason you had brought a quill and parchment with you to the pub was that you liked to write in public places because you liked observing people and their behaviours. Each person had little personality traits and oddities that made them interesting. Especially muggles! The local park was one of your favourite places to write, especially when muggles played this game with a piece of plastic shaped like a plate that they’d throw in the air to each other. They weren’t very good at catching it though. Their dogs were often better -

“What’re ya writing?”

You lifted your eyes up from the parchment to meet the now familiar brown ones that belonged to Oliver Wood. As bad as it sounds you knew before even looking up that it wouldn’t be Steve standing there. Apart from the obvious difference in accents, Steve wouldn’t have asked you what you were writing, even if you were on good terms.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

“Yeah,” Oliver agreed, a small frown lining his forehead. “Do you live 'round here?”

“I certainly do, Pemble Street actually. You must’ve just moved to the area, right? Being the new Keeper it’s probably more convenient for you…"

“Yeah. Moved here last month,” he answered. He continued looking at you and you didn’t really have anything else to say so you twiddled the quill in between your fingers, your eyes darting from him back to your parchment. “So, what are you writing?” he repeated.

“Oh!” You had forgotten that he’d actually properly asked about your story. “Just a story about a stupid prat who told a Quidditch player that she thought Quidditch was awful.”

Oliver’s eyes lit up in amusement and you were shocked. You thought he’d want to dispute you on how un-dull Quidditch was, not to laugh at your joke.

“Sounds like a familiar story.”

You grinned. “Oi, better watch – " You paused your sentence when a man with very, very large biceps came to a halt next to Oliver.

Oliver followed your gaze to the newcomer, acknowledging him with a nod and a ‘hey’.

“Alright?” Oliver’s friend greeted you. You smiled in response and then looked down at your parchment, figuring your conversation with Oliver was going to come to an end.

“See you,” Oliver said, picking up the hint that his friend wanted to accompany him back to wherever they were sitting.

You didn't even look up from your work to respond. “I don’t doubt it."

After a few moments passed by you snuck a look up and saw Oliver and his friend (must be another Quidditch player) walk past the bar and into the back of the pub where there were more tables and a small dance floor where occasionally people would dance if a band was playing. You had been enjoying Oliver's company and you were a bit miffed that his friend had come to whisk him away.

Out of sight, Oliver’s teammate Benji finally said something. “Didn’t mean to pull you away, I just didn’t know if you were trapped with the bird and wanted help getting out of the conversation or –"

“Nah, I know her.”

“Can never be too sure,” Benji replied. He knew how some of the witches got in here. Once they recognised a Quidditch player they were as quick as a newly opened chocolate frog to jump and latch on to you. “Who was the lass?”

Oliver felt heat rush to his cheeks. “I… I, erm, I actually don’t know her name.”

“What?” Benji laughed. "You know her, but don't know her name?"

“Well, I... I - “ Oliver spluttered, only encouraging Benji’s laughter.

“Do you want me to go ask her for you?”

“No!” Oliver said quickly, not catching on that Benji was only teasing him. Oliver had no idea who you were but judging from your wit he was sure that you’d taunt him.

“You know, mate, the longer you leave it the worse it’ll be...”

Oliver wasn’t too observant when it came to women and he’d never been very good at picking up social queues. He felt most comfortable talking to teammates because then he could talk about Quidditch. In fact, everyone was easy to talk to if Quidditch was the topic. Oliver could talk about that with no problems. Although for some strange reason the few brief conversations he’d had with you hadn’t been too difficult and each conversation had left him feeling more and more intrigued by ya. Oliver had thought about you a fair bit that night you had turned up here in your pyjamas. _Mainly he’d tried to come up with a reason for you being in your pyjamas in public._

Later on that night when Oliver had walked over to the bar he’d seen you sitting at the same table with a group of people. One of them had his hand on your thigh so Oliver assumed this was your elusive boyfriend. Oliver couldn’t see the guy too clearly at moment, but he did remember seeing him at the match. Pretty sure he had come over to congratulate him on his new position. Seemed like a pretty decent bloke. You, however, looked a bit on edge. Oliver would’ve thought you’d show more interest in your boyfriend seeing as you waited for him after the Quidditch match and showed up at the pub (in your pajamas) to find him. But when Oliver looked at how you were behaving he thought you looked a bit wooden. Your hands were placed stiffly on the table as though you were trying to make sure your boyfriend couldn't hold them. You also talked directly to your friend across the table, your body language not really inviting in conversation from anyone else. Maybe you’d had a row with your boyfriend before coming out. It’d explain why you’d been here by yourself for a bit.

Oliver sighed. He needed to stop thinking about some girl whose name he didn’t know.


	5. You Really Got A Hold On Me

That night you’d managed to catch up with a few friends at the Royal Oak, but you hadn’t told them about the situation with Steve. You didn’t like drama just for the sake of having something to talk about and you felt that if you told your friends what was going on at home you’d be throwing Steve under bus. You would’ve end up ranting about Steve to them which would only make them disapprove of him. Your friends did actually like Steve as a person. It wasn’t as though Steve was notorious for arguing with you or anything like that but as far as your friends were concerned Steve was definitely punching above his weight with you. Your friends had told you that they thought Steve took advantage of you and had practically moved into your flat without your approval (you’d argue that you did invite him (even though he’d sort of suggested it first). A few had mentioned that he didn’t seem to truly care about you, well, he definitely didn’t care about you more than he cared about himself. 

But of course your friends were going to say that. You’d be single if it were up to them to decide who you dated. 

Besides it had worked out well that you hadn’t mentioned the row you’d had at home because Steve had ended up meeting you out later that night once he had gotten over his bad mood. It wouldn’t have been a good look if he had turned up and your group of friends had started to mug him off because of what you’d told them. Although you were glad Steve had decided to join you for dinner you were still a bit hurt from the argument you’d had at home so you weren’t as friendly to him as you normally were. You hoped that this wasn’t obvious to your mates.

Towards 1am you’d both apparated back to your apartment. You were a bit tipsy so you let Steve get away with only a small apology. With the argument forgotten you both collapsed onto your bed, sleep finally taking over. 

 

\--

That same night Oliver had met a woman at the pub who had given him her address if he felt like contacting her. Oliver was still getting used to this whole ‘fame’ thing. He was hesitant to take her details when she handed them to him and introduced herself as ‘Stacey’. Oliver knew a lot of women were only interested in dating Quidditch players for fame and fortune. That wasn’t why Oliver was interested in playing Quidditch at all. He wasn’t the best judge of character but he thought this woman seemed sincere, even if she was a little forward. She had a pretty smile and touched his arm a lot too which distracted him from any other thoughts he was having. 

It also distracted Oliver from any niggling thoughts he was having about another woman in the same pub sitting elsewhere with her boyfriend…

\--

Todays practice had gone well despite it being on a Saturday morning when some of the team were still hungover from the night before. The coach had made them do a new routine for upper body strength which consisted of rope climbing, pull ups, and push ups. It wasn’t a particular thrilling routine but it had made Oliver tired enough that he was looking forward to spending the night in. 

The team was spread out in the locker room with some still showering inside, some outside chatting, and some helping packing up the equipment.

“So, who was that lass you were with last night?”

Oliver was slightly taken aback by the question but his teammate Phillipa didn’t mess around when it came to getting to the point. So Oliver didn’t mess around giving her an answer. “She’s just a friend.”

Phillipa scoffed. Turns out that wasn’t the answer she was looking for. Phillipa placed her broom back into her blue bag and zipped it up. With a small swing the bag found its place on her shoulder and she put her other hand on her hip, turning around to give Oliver a smirk. “She didn’t look like just a friend, the way she was flirting with ya.”

Oliver really did look confused now. “Flirtin’? I wouldn’t say that she was flirting…”

“Come off it, Oliver. I saw it with me own eyes!”

Benji, one of Puddlemeres Beaters, snorted at Phillipa’s comment. He had just come out of the showers and was tying his wet shoulder length black hair into a small ponytail. “Wood’s damn near blind when it comes to women.” 

Oliver wondered why his teammates were all of a sudden so concerned about his love life. He sourly wished they’d go back to talking about the coach’s new routine instead.

“She was all over ya, touching ya arm, smiling, playing with her hair… I saw it all,” Phillipa said smugly.

“What? Who?”

“Merlins sake, Oliver, the woman I saw you with! In the pink top… you were chatting with her at -”

“OH!” Oliver finally caught on. “Oh, you mean Stacey. Yeah she’s alright. She gave me her address actually,” he boasted. Here they were thinking he couldn’t get a date…

“...Who did you think I meant?” Phillipa asked, her head tilted to the side.

Shit. Oliver felt his cheeks start to tingle. “Just… just another friend…” 

“The ‘friend’ whose name you don’t know?” Benji added with a sly grin. He turned to Phillipa. “When I showed up last night he was chatting to some bird who was sitting by herself. But he says she’s ‘just a friend’….” Benji concluded with a short laugh. He knew Oliver was already sensitive about that girl so it’d be easy to humiliate him again.

“She hasn’t given me her name,” Oliver retorted, quickly zipping up his broom bag so he could leave. “And she is just a friend,” he reassured them.  


“Funny how she was the first woman you thought of though when I asked…” Phillipa said with a hum.  


“Shut up,” Oliver mumbled, shoving his wand into his pocket and swinging his broomstick bag over his shoulder. 

He exited the locker room with a roll of his eyes, the sounds of his friends laughing growing more distant with each step he took. 

He was definitely going to owl Stacey tomorrow. That’d show them.


	6. Don't Bother Me

**April, 2000**

The next few weeks had gone by fast. Work had announced that there would be some new positions opening up next month which was mildly exciting. Fresh blood was always good for Witch Weekly. Also – who knew what the new positions would be? You liked your job and realised that you weren’t some hot-shot journalist but you really did enjoy writing. Perhaps one of the new positions would allow you to write for the magazine instead of editing…

That evening when you got home you were halfway through telling Steve about the potential new job positions when he interrupted you. The conversation wasn’t a deep one seeing as you were mainly talking out loud as you prepared soup. Steve had been sitting quietly at the kitchen table so you thought he wouldn’t mind your chatter. You were wrong.

“Can you be quiet? I’m trying to finish writing this chapter on my father’s time in Germany.”

“Gees, Steve. This is the first time I’ve seen you home and not locked away in the study in ages.” You knew these were fighting words and it’d piss Steve off to bring up his absence. You turned around to face him with a bitchy expression on your face.

Yet Steve wasn’t looking at you and continued scribbling and crossing out words on the parchment in front of him.

You scoffed. “What, I’m not good enough for a response now, ey? S’not like I wanna argue with you, but come on.”

“If you don’t want to argue with me then you better stop talking.”

 _Oooh that did make your blood boil._ You knew your worth and that you didn’t deserve to be spoken to like that by anyone. “Sorry for breathing,” you snapped sarcastically. “We’ve barely spoken in weeks.”

“If you insist on talking nonsense then I’ll leave.”

“What?!” you blurted out. Was he bluffing to get you to snap out of your feisty attitude? Where had that come from?

“What do you mean ‘what’? How long is this going to go on for? You sit around daydreaming all day and don’t listen to me, half the time you’re– “

“ME?!” You placed a hand on your chest, offended. “I don’t listen? You don’t bloody listen to me! What was I just talking about, just then, huh? You know, BEFORE you told me to shut up!?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Sorry, I’ve been too busy to listen to your work problems. My fathers on his death bed, you know.”

You managed to swallow even though your throat was dry from raising your voice. The discontentment in Steve’s voice was clear so you tried to play on his softer side. “I’m not trying to take your attention away from your family. I’ve met your dad, I liked him! He’s a really nice man.”

Steve was looking anywhere but you now.

“I know I talk a lot of crap sometimes… and I know I can be aloof, I know I can get caught up in my own thoughts… But I still care about you and your family. There’s no reason for you to shut me out. Don’t you care about me?” you pleaded.

“I do,” Steve began. “I do care about you. I don’t know why I’ve been acting this way, just somethings been telling me… my gut… I just have a feeling… I…”

“What?” you asked, anxiety getting the best of you. “You have a feeling about what?”

“I just... I think I need some space. I know I’m not being fair to you but dealing with everything that’s going on back home…”

It wasn’t as though this came out of nowhere. Even prior to the complications around Steve's father the pair of you had had communication problems before that had resulted in bickering. But now that Steve had made breaking up feel so real it was a surreal feeling.

“You don’t want to be with me?”

It was barely a question, more of a statement of disbelief at this stage.

“I – I don’t know, [Name]. I didn’t want to drag you through all this mess with my father just in case – “

You gave him a small, delirious laugh. “Steve, even if we weren’t a couple I would still want to be there for you.”

“I don’t know what to say…” he admitted. “I feel stupid. I think it would be best if we took a break – I’ll move out, of course.”

You felt your heart sinking. It was all too real now. Even though he wasn’t officially washing his hands of you, you knew what a break meant. It meant you weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend anymore and you were basically free to go about your day without thinking about each other. Except you knew you’d find it difficult to not think about Steve after spending two years of your life thinking about him all the time.

You sighed, giving in. “If that’s what you want.”

“I promise… once this is over… once I clear my head.... I do love you, [Name]. I do.”

\--

Oliver had finally got round to arranging a date with Stacey. It wasn’t much of a date though, going to the pub. But he had properly asked her to go with him and she’d say yes so it definitely counted as a date in Oliver’s mind. Not that he had much to compare this date to. He thought it was going well though because Stacey was still touching his arm loads and flashing him her pretty smile. When there was a lull in the conversation Oliver happened to glance around the bar for the first time since they’d arrived. The Green Cauldron was filled with an older crowd tonight as it was a Tuesday. Mainly filled with middle-aged couples who were enjoying a pub dinner without the weekend rowdiness. Oliver looked over to the bar and saw _you_.

For some reason Oliver could tell it was you from behind which made him feel odd. Hell, knowing who someone is from behind was weird, wasn’t it? To be fair you were usually dressed the same if you’d come to the pub straight from work (apart from that time you were in your pyjamas) so it wasn’t particularly hard to tell it was you. Same hair…silky and shiny… same watch on your left wrist. Same cream coloured skirt and same legs… _ahem_ … not that he really looked that closely at them or anything. Oliver was glad when you turned around from the bar to talk to your friend who was standing behind you. It was definitely you. He wasn’t glad when you noticed him staring from across the bar. You gave him a small smile and a brief three fingered wave of acknowledgement. He reciprocated your smile and wave. He noticed that your eyes looked kind of red and puffy. That wasn’t normal. You’d obviously noticed that he was dining with someone because you didn’t come over to his table but instead shifted your gaze back to your friend, acknowledging and laughing at something she had said.

You had a silly laugh that made your eyes wrinkle up. Oliver liked that you looked a bit happier. Wonder what had made you upset be-

“Who’s that?” Stacey interrupted him.

 _Shit._ Oliver cleared his throat, feeling embarrassed that he’d forgotten Stacey was sitting across from him to witness that. “Um, just a woman I know.”

Stacey didn’t look happy with that answer. Couldn’t blame her: it was a pretty crappy response. “Who?” she urged.

Oliver felt his pulse quicken with nerves from being put on the spot. “She’s just someone I see around here, is all. Pub regular.”

He watched in dismay as Stacey’s expression changed. Irritated was the best way to describe how she looked. “I don’t really appreciate that behaviour, Oliver.”

Oliver felt a bit irritated too. He had only bloody _waved_ at you. He didn’t invite you over or say he fancied you or something. Still, wasn’t very gentlemanly to stare at another woman when he was on a date. “Sorry.”

Any light in Stacey’s eyes had evaporated. She looked bitter now as she finished the rest of her meal in silence. Oliver didn’t know what else he could say to make the situation any better. He felt so frustrated. Part of this was because he knew he wasn’t 100% innocent (he had been staring a bit), but on the other hand this was his first date with Stacey. She wasn’t his girlfriend. Jealously is normal, especially over competition. In Oliver’s opinion Stacey was already way too jealous for him to handle and in honesty now that she was ignoring him he wasn’t sure if he’d ask her out again.

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry all you Steve fans ;) He'll be back though to ruin Reader's life....


	7. Carry That Weight

**May, 2000**

Life did what it did best - it carried on. You tried to see the positives in the break from Steve. You had more time to spend with your friends, more time to invest yourself in your work, more time to visit your family, more space in your closet… _No, that last one was a joke_. You hadn’t moved anything in the apartment since Steve had left and the emptiness constantly reminded you of him. You hadn’t spent more time with your family or friends, and judging by your colleague Paresh who was sitting on the edge of your desk helping you figure out this week’s crossword you really hadn't invested much more time into your work either.

Henry Worthington had been your direct boss since you had started at Witch Weekly. He was in his late forties, average height, broad shouldered, and had dark copper hair that was now speckled grey. His hands and sharp nose were probably his largest features and he had some of the hairiest knuckles and nostrils you had seen. You had many opportunities to look at both of these two features as he often placed his hands on your desk, causing you to look up (and up his nose).

Today Worthington approached your desk as usual, clearing his throat loudly to get your attention. Paresh almost toppled off your desk and when he saw who it was he dashed away spouting apologies and excuses until he was out of sight.

You shifted your gaze from those hairy knuckles up to an irritated looking face. “Good morning, Mr Worthington,” you said, trying not to sound guilty.

He eyed the crossword in front of you. “You look busy.”

Getting to complete the crossword was actually part of your job. Someone had to make sure that they were accurate and actually doable for the general public. What wasn’t your job was sitting around with Paresh for 2 hours gossiping.

You gave him a sheepish smile. “I – I- erm, not too bad…”

He sighed. “Sorry, [Name], I’m not being a prat, really. I need a favour. Bit of an emergency.”

“Oh thank Merlin.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Our journalist, Firth, well, she’s gone home sick this morning. Caught a magical bug.”

You didn’t like where this was going. “What’s she got? Vanishing sickness? Her head better have bloody disappeared,” you muttered.

Worthington ignored your comment. “Look [Name], Firth has already written the questions down, I know there’s a bit more to it than that but surely you could ask the bloke the questions, get the response… you know.” He waved his hand in the air to bat away any difficulty that might be associated with the task.

You didn’t buy it. “But I don’t even know what the interviews about! What if it’s about the conflict in Continental Europe? Or – "

“This is bloody Witch Weekly, not the Daily Prophet, [Name].”

“Ok, ok. Point taken.”

No, you probably wouldn’t be writing about any political situation when your magazine had a yearly ‘Most Charming Smile’ award.

“Wood will be here in about 20 minutes. Firth booked the small meeting room on the 3rd floor. Tidy yourself up – don’t give me that look – and get yourself up there.”

You shot up from your desk. “And the questions? Where are the questions, sir?!"

“I’ll bring them back down and put them on your desk.”

“Right. Ok. Thank you.”

You grabbed your handbag to go freshen up. You made an attempt in the mornings to look nice for work and thankfully you were the type of witch to bring lipstick into the office with you. You’d never reapply it throughout the day. What was the point, with the constant tea drinking and snacking…

“Wait!” you cried, a panicked look on your face. “Who did you say I was interviewing?’

“Wood. The new Puddlemere player. Was on the reserve team, made it – “

“NO!”

“-onto the team – what? What do you mean ‘no’?”

“I can’t!”

“You have to!”

“ _I can’t!_ ”

“[Name]…” Worthington said in a mildly threatening tone. “I’m not asking you again. Look – “ He could clearly see the fear on your face but he had no good idea why. “You’ll be fine. You’re more intelligent than half the journalists in here, you’re easy to talk to and you’re a good writer. It’ll be a good experience for you.”

Your expression changed from a look of pure horror to an emotionless stare, as if you’d just heard some very bad news. You accepted your fate and nodded your head in agreement. Worthington took that as a good sign and with a nod of his own head he turned to collect the questions for you.

You took his advice and headed off to the bathroom, praying that you’d brought some perfume because you were beginning to get nervous and sweaty. And was it today that you’d spilt your drink on your blouse or yesterday? This was going to be the most torturous afternoon in history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be aaaallllllllll Reader/Oliver :O !


	8. Act Naturally

You had been pacing back and forth inside the conference room waiting anxiously for the secretary to bring Wood upstairs. You probably should have been sitting quietly and professionally at the table when he arrived but instead you nearly jumped out of your skin when there was a loud knock at the door.

“Come in,” you shouted towards it.

Shit, should you get the door? Were famous Quidditch players used to people opening the door for them? _Shit._ You dashed over to the door lunging for the doorknob that had already begun to turn. So then you jumped back, totally not looking flustered when the familiar Scot stood before you.

“Mr Wood for you,” the secretary said dreamily.

“T-thanks.”

Oliver looked confused as hell, but he offered you his hand all the same. “You’re Katerina?”

“Aaah, _no._ ” You wanted to laugh at how perplexed Oliver looked but you still had the whole interview to get through. “It’s a long story, come in, have a seat.”

Oliver sat opposite you, leaving about a metre or two between you. “You do actually work here, right?”

Your eyes widened but when you looked at him he was smirking. He was just teasing you. “I’m the editor of the magazine but my colleague, Katerina, was supposed to be taking this interview. She went home sick so lucky me, right?”

You shuffled the papers in front of you trying to find that bloody list of questions Worthington had left on a pile of other notes you’d grabbed from your desk. “Oh! Did you want something to drink?” You waved your wand to bring over the metal tray that had a glass jug of water. Another swish and the jug poured itself into both of the empty glasses.

Oliver picked up the glass of water somewhat tentatively. This made you more nervous and you hoped he couldn’t tell. It wasn’t easy to make you nervous.

“You don’t mind if I ask you the questions, do you?” you asked after a couple of moments had passed and Oliver was sitting there looking at you.

He grinned for the first time since entering the room. “Is that how you think I am? Fame hasn’t gotten to my head just cuz I’m on the team now, ya know.”

“Oh thank God. I was so nervous that I was going to cock this up… Katerina’s got this list of questions she wrote that I'm supposed to ask ya…”

You were too busy to notice that Oliver still looked highly bemused. “What’s your name?”

Hadn’t you given him your bloody stupid name at the start? If you gave him your name do you think he’d remember you from Hogwarts? You couldn’t avoid the question, so you gave him your first name eventually.

Oliver was quick to repeat it. “Suits you.”

“Well it’s not bad, I’ll give my parents that, and they’ve got some questionable taste…” You looked back down at the parchment that Worthington had given you. “Right, here it is, the questions…”

You quickly read the first question in your head and folded the paper back up quickly. These questions would be the death of you. “I am not bloody asking you any of these," you stated.

“What?” Oliver’s brows came together in concern. “What do they say?” The look on your face confirmed that they were bad, so he grinned again. “I haven’t done many interviews since making the team so I probably wouldn’t know if they were shite or not.”

“If I ask you any of these questions I will die of embarrassment and you’ll get sent to Azkaban for suspected murder.”

“Come on.” Oliver reached over to take the piece of paper from you. You reacted quickly, holding the parchment out of his way. “Nice reflexes you’ve got there. Ever thought of joining our team as a Seeker?”

You half scoffed/half laughed and placed your hand over your chest. “Me?! You’ve got to be – OI!” In the few seconds you’d been distracted by Oliver’s suggestion he had grabbed the questions from you.

He read a random question out loud. “What are your most recommended hair products for witches who love to fly?”

“Bloody awful. I know its Witch Weekly, but still…”

“Where did she come up with that idea? Me mum always said it’d be a miracle if I brushed my hair… hair products?”

You gave the question a quick thought. “Let me rephrase it for you… erm…ok what’s a tip you’d like to give a young female, you know like someone who would read this magazine, what advice would you give if she was interested in playing Quidditch?”

Olivers eyes lit up a bit at the Q-word. “Oh, alright, I can answer that.” He scrunched up in thought. “She’s got to know her build and her strength. Seen a few players – male and female – trying to play a position that they’re not fit for. Beaters need muscle, Seekers should be small and light – still got to be able to take a few knocks though because they’re the most fouled player. I wouldn’t tell anyone not to try a certain position but does help if they’re physically built well for it.”

“Thank you. Um…” You looked a bit cluelessly at Oliver, who still had the parchment. “What else did she ask?”

He looked down at the parchment. “Just random facts about meself… what my hometowns like… my favourite band….”

“Ugh. Better tell me so Katerina doesn’t neck me for not asking. I’ll quick-quote it.”

“I was born in Glasgow. It’s , um…cold… windy too, not ideal weather for Quidditch practice… Scottish National do alright though but I prefer playing down here in Dorset… Umm...Favourite band… not many wizarding ones to choose from really.”

“Right?” you interjected. “I mean England’s had some bloody brilliant muggle bands cracking off last 5 years…”

“Definitely. Your countries had a few good ones from the eighties as well like... The Smiths, and New Order…”

“The Pastels were good too…” you added in a Scottish band for him.

“Aye… and now you’ve got Stone Roses and Happy Monday…”

“It’s changing though, the scene, now that Oasis and Blur have come along – “

“Are you a half blood?”

“Yep. Are you?”

Oliver nodded, grinning. “I thought I was mad for liking muggle music.”

“No way. I love it too! I’ve got this thing my mum called a CD player at home. Have you seen one?”

“A CD player? No, can’t say I have. I usually just listen to the radio.”

“Oh! I have one at mine. They’re better than the radio cuz you can skip the boring parts.” Remembering you were at work, you quickly cleared your throat. “Sorry, got a bit off track… what other monstrosities has she got written down?”

“What’s my perfect Sunday… Well. Don’t know if it’s the perfect one, but I spend most Sundays playing Quidditch. Not a bad Sunday.”

You snorted. “What, that’s it?” Oliver raised an eyebrow, but nodded his head to confirm his answer. “Each to their own but that’s quite a simple request, isn’t it? Just being able to play Quidditch makes your Sunday perfect?"

“Quidditch is the most important thing in my life, of course it’s part of my perfect Sunday!”

A cheeky grin crept up on your face. “Well that answers a question I’m sure she’s got written down – you must be single.”

“What, just because Quidditch is my number one priority doesn’t… doesn’t…”

You laughed. “I’m only teasing.”

“Why would she ask that?”

“This is Witch Weekly. Thousands of young witches who fancy you will want to know what their odds are.”

“Merlin. Thousands?”

“Probably millions.”

“Being on the reserve team is really competitive. When I saw you a few weeks ago at the pub – that was really one of the first times I’ve been out in a while… and erm, off the record, but it’s hard dating someone when you’re 'famous'.”

“I bet it is… you’re probably always wondering in the back of your mind what her real motive is…”

“Thanks for reassuring me,” Oliver teased.

“Oh, no! I mean there’s heaps of goodhearted females out there. Don’t worry about it. I’d be more concered about waking up for all them 5am Quidditch practices…”

Oliver laughed at your joke. “Waking up early isn’t hard for me. The morning is the best time for Quidditch practice because the brains turned on. I think evening practices get me, if anything.”

“Well, I commend you for all your effort. I can barely wake up at 7am for my job which requires me to sit on my arse all day.”

Oliver laughed again, which made you smile.

“Alright. Last question then… What’s your favourite Quidditch team, _after your own team_ , of course.”

“Chuddley Cannons. We’re playing ‘em in a few weeks actually,” Oliver replied with a sigh. “I’m a bit worried I’ll go easy on ‘em cuz I’ve got a soft spot.”

You laughed. “Chuddley Cannons haven’t won a match in decades! But I do hope they give you a fair fight,” you commented. “I’m afraid I’m all out of questions. Unless there’s anything you’d like to add?”

“Do you really not like Quidditch?”

You were a bit taken aback by the question. Although that’s what you’d spoken to him about for the last 30 minutes the question did seem out of the blue. “I don’t mind it.”

“What’s that mean?”

You laughed at his persistence. “There’s nothing wrong with it. I’m just not obsessed with it like this whole country is.”

Oliver hmmed at your response. “Have you ever played?”

“Er… I think maybe as a kid. Can’t say I was very gifted.”

“Maybe you don’t like it because you don’t know how to play,” Oliver suggested.

“I guess so. Speaking of Quidditch, I know a lot of time has passed since I saw you at the game but I did want to apologise for being rude that night.”

“You weren’t rude. It amused me, actually.”

“Amused you? I was a prat, I shouldn’t have blown you off, you offered to find Steve for me and I was so impolite…”

Oliver gave you a smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Ok. Well, thank you for your time today, Mr Wood.”

Oliver gave you a stare when you referred to him by his surname.

“I’m being professional. Whatever.” You grinned, stood up and pulled your skirt down to straighten it out. You extended your hand for him to shake which he took and held for a moment before letting go.

You’d say that’d gone pretty successfully. Hopefully the quick quotes quill didn’t muck up too much and if you had time to edit it before Katerina could see it you were certain you’d actually be able to get a half-decent interview into Witch Weekly for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY I think you smashed that interview!  
> Hope you liked it :) x


	9. Please Mister Postman

**June, 2000**

Work was going horribly slow for a Friday morning until the mail boy Paresh ran up to your desk flailing his arms around. You had been thinking about nothing good – Steve, mainly, and whether or not you should try and get in contact with him. The commotion Paresh was making was a needed distraction.

Upon his approach you noticed a letter held in his right hand. “Paresh! What can I do ya for?”

“Holy shit [Name], you’ve got a letter from _Oliver Wood!_ "

You tried to match his enthusiasm. “Oooh, you don’t say? Let’s have it then.” You sounded more intrigued than you wanted.

Paresh quickly stuck the letter out under your nose and stared down at you through his big brown eyes. He clearly expected you to open the letter in front of him so he could join in the fun.

The first thing you saw was your name written down in a cursive scribble on the front and when you flipped the envelope over Oliver’s name was on the back. So Paresh wasn’t telling fibs, at least. The letter really was from Oliver. You couldn’t imagine there would be any other topic than the Witch Weekly article that Oliver would write to you about so you figured the letter was safe to open in front of an 18 year old. Hopefully the letter wasn’t going to be about how rubbish Oliver thought the article you’d written had been. That'd be rather embarrassing.

You grabbed the metal letter opener on your desk, sliced open the top and began to read the words out loud.

_“Dear [Name]-"_

_“'_ Dear!' That’s a good start!” Paresh interrupted. You shot him a look to shut his mouth.

 _“Dear [Name],”_ you continued, _“Finally got round to reading the interview in Witch Weekly. You did a really great job. I much preferred answering your questions than the original ones… Anyway, just wanted to say thank you. Sincerely, Oliver Wood.”_

“WOW!” Paresh cried, not being able to contain himself. “Oh wow, [Name]. Oliver Wood thinks you did a good job! I can’t believe he’s written to you… look, he signed it so you’ve got his autograph now!”

“Erm, yeah…”

“[Name]! Look, there’s a P.S. at the bottom!”

You had spotted the p.s., of course, and had read it to yourself in your head. You weren’t sure if it was professional to read it out in front of Paresh.

“Go on,” he encouraged you with a little nudge of his elbow.

“ _P.S. The team is having drinks tonight at The Green Cauldron because we don’t have a match on tomorrow. You’re welcome to join us._ ”

“Oh my Merlin, if you marry Oliver Wood you’re going to be FAMOUS!”

“Paresh,” you said with a laugh. “Paresh, would you keep it down?! Marry him… are you daft!?”

“Sorry, [Name], I’m just so excited for you. What’s he like? Apart from fit?"

“Oliver? He’s a nice bloke. Real nice bloke, actually.”

“Are you going to write back to him?”

“Um, I guess so.”

Paresh’s eyes lit up. “You should tell him you’ll meet him tonight!”

“Paresh you’re not going to rock up at The Green Cauldron tonight and embarrass me, are you?”

“No of course not. I swwwweeeaaar!”

“Ok good. Alright, hold on let me write this down… "

You picked up your quill and grabbed a spare piece of parchment.

_‘Dear Oliver,_

_Glad you liked the interview. Hope talking about Quidditch wasn’t too much of a bore for you…._

_See you tonight._

_-[Name]’_

“See you tonight?” Paresh read from across your desk. “What the hell is that? He’s asking you on date and you’ll just ‘see him tonight’? That’s what I’d say to my mum, not – "

You snorted. “He’s not asking me on a date. He’s there with his team.”

“I don’t know about that. I mean this is Oliver Wood, [Name]. He could have any girl he wanted and he asked _you_ to meet him?”

“Eh? What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing!” Paresh said quickly, rolling his eyes. “Nothing is wrong with you. But you could tell him you’d LOVE to see him tonight… be a bit more flirtatious…”

“Paresh, why would I be flirtatious?”

Paresh looked as though he was going to faint. “You don’t want to flirt with Oliver Wood? You’re mad, [Name]. Absolutely mad.”

You stuck your arm out, the letter in your hand. “If you could mail it for me today I’d really appreciate it.”

Paresh took the letter from you with a sour look on his face.

“And don’t go changing anything. I’ll know if ya do!” you warned him.

“Alriiiiight,” he grumbled, exiting the office with your letter.


	10. All Together Now

Once it hit 5pm Paresh was back at your desk attempting to perform a hair sleeking charm on you. You had told him to bugger off whilst you freshened up your makeup but he was still muttering under his breath when he thought you weren’t listening. After his 5th attempt you gave him your thanks and apparated to the Green Cauldron. Although Oliver had invited you tonight you were pretty damn sure he wasn’t asking you on a date. You had enough common sense to know that dates were usually between two people and didn’t involve a whole Quidditch team. Whether Oliver knew this was beyond you, but you did send a quick owl to your friend Jane to meet you at the pub to keep you company until Oliver arrived.

Jane tucked a piece of her shoulder length brown hair behind her ear and greeted you with a quick kiss on the cheek when you arrived. “Oooh,” she sung, eyeing you up. “You look fancy. Big day at work?”

“Kind of…” you lied. You had a quick look around the bar to make sure no-one familiar was around. “Oliver Wood owled me this morning.”

Jane gave your shoulder a push. “Get out. Sayin’ what? To meet ya here?” You nodded and her eyes widened. “Are ya on a bloody date?”

You laughed, trying to hush her up. “I aint on a date, his whole team’s coming apparently.”

“Still, [Name]. Good on ya. I’ll make myself scarce when I see him.”

You snorted. “No you bloody won’t.” You knew Jane too well. If she spotted the team she’d be the first to tell them what a big fan she was.

“Aye,” Jane agreed. “But I promise I won’t flirt with him,” she teased, a cheeky grin on her flushed face.

\--

By 7pm Jane and yourself had moved downstairs as a few other friends from your group had rocked up and you had enough people to warrant a table. You were trying to monitor how much you drank because you didn’t want to make an arse of yourself, especially if you were introduced to the rest of his team. In all honesty you were hoping that you would get to see Oliver tonight because you'd begun to enjoy your conversations, and even if some of them revolved around Quidditch they didn’t seem as dull when you were listening to him…

\--

Oliver and his teammates had been sitting at a large booth upstairs since they had arrived at 8pm. He got on pretty well with his team and really couldn’t have asked for better people to play Quidditch with. The only one that bothered him was Benji, mainly because he seemed to know exactly how to get under his skin.

Another person that had gotten under his skin was you. You had gotten under Oliver's skin in a kind of compelling and persistent way that made him excited to see you next. Oliver would argue that this was still irritating in its own way… but when he spotted you at the bar he had to try his best not stare at you, all irritating thoughts gone from his mind. Tonight it was so much harder not to stare because he’d been drinking. Maybe he could subtly ogle you from afar without anyone noticing?

“Your birds looking good tonight mate,” Benji purposely spotted, tracing Oliver’s line of sight to you.

Oliver placed his pint back on the wooden table and gulped down the liquid in his mouth. “She’s not my bird.”

Chaser Phillipa caught on to the conversation quickly. “Is that her? The mystery woman?” she teased. “Are you too scared to talk to her?”

“He has no problem talking to her, he just doesn’t have the balls to ask her out,” Benji answered on Oliver's behalf. _Annoyingly_

Oliver gritted his teeth. It wasn’t like that at all. They didn’t know one bloody thing about you, like the fact that you had a boyfriend and Oliver ALWAYS played fair. He wouldn’t make a sly move like that, especially not on you. You seemed like the type of girl who would easily knock him back without a second thought and bruise his ego. This was a really delicate issue and he needed some time to think before -

“Let’s go over to her!” Phillipa suggested, standing up before Oliver could protest.

Now Oliver had no choice but to go along with them because if he didn’t he was half afraid of what they would say to you without him there to stop them. Besides if he didn’t speak to you at some point this evening it’d look rude, what with him inviting you here and everything…

\--

You twisted around to face away from the bar when you heard your name being called and once you saw Oliver you waved him and his two friends over. They all chimed their greetings along together and you realised that you recognised the man with the black hair as the Beater from a few months ago. As you hadn't been introduced to him you only gave Oliver a hug when he reached the bar. Judging from his hand fumbling on your waist he wasn’t expecting a hug but he was grinning when you pulled away.

He pointed at the short woman on his left who was sporting a blonde pixie cut. “This is Phillipa, you can call her Pip, and Benji,” he pointed at the man on his right, “you’ve met him before.”

“Right, hello, how’re you going,” you greeted them both. “No game tomorrow, ey? Are you all chuffed for a break? Or sad?” You then looked directly at Oliver. “Let me guess, sad?”

“I’m excited!” Pip exclaimed. “I’m going to the zoo!”

You laughed at her enthusiasm. “The muggle zoo?”

“Yep, the one in London.”

“That’ll be nice. I like the elephants.”

Pip grinned. “I love watching the monkeys, they’re a laugh.”

“Planet of the Apes scared me as a kid…”

“Huh?” Pip questioned your last sentence.

You laughed. “Sorry, muggle movie my mum used to watch.”

“You a half-blood?” Benji asked and you nodded in response.

“Just like Wood.” Pip gave him a nudge in the ribs, encouraging him to speak up.

“Trust me, we know we’ve got that in common," you informed his friends, exchanging a knowing glance with Oliver.

Oliver was looking at you with amusement but before he could say anything Benji butted in. “Do you all want a drink?” he asked the group but he was looking at you in particular.

“I’ve already got one, thanks.”

“I’ll get you another,” he offered.

“No, I’m fine.”

You weren’t about to play that game. Whether or not Oliver even fancied you was one thing ( _hmmm was Paresh getting into your head??_ ) but to accept a drink off a guy that you certainly had no interest in was something you weren’t about to do.

You turned to smile at Oliver, ignoring Benji’s annoyed expression. “So you liked the article, huh?”

“You worked well with what you had.”

“I tried to cut out all the embarrassing bits but I wouldn’t have had much to work with if I did that…”

“Ha ha.”

“I got in trouble, you know. From my colleague.”

Oliver frowned. “What? Why?”

“Because I changed some of the questions. Don’t worry – "

“I can tell her I asked for them to be changed,” Oliver interjected. “Her questions were shite anyway – "

You laughed at his bluntness. “No I know, I know. It doesn’t matter really; apparently sales went up that week anyway, so there ya go.”

Oliver looked puzzled that the article was something that people would want to read. “That’s good, right?”

The two of you were now standing a bit further back from the bar, leaning in to each other to hear better over the bar chatter and loud music coming from downstairs. You assumed Benji and Pip were still a bit behind you sorting out their drinks.

“Of course's good. You’ve got a lot of fans. Actually, you’ve got quite a fan in my office,” you told him.

“Who, you?” he said with some cheek.

You snorted, appreciating his joke. “No, our freshly graduated and newly employed mailman who came into my office this morning with your letter… _hold on a minute…_ ” You leaned back towards the bar and grabbed one of the coasters. You then reached into your bag to grab your quill. “Can you sign this for him? His name’s Paresh.”

“What? Really?”

Oliver looked so bewildered by your requested it caused you to smile.

“Don’t be humble.”

“What’re you two doing?” Pip returned to the conversation holding her drink.

“I’m getting Oliver to sign a coaster for his number one fan,” you said loudly enough for him to hear you. He had retreated to the bar to use the hard surface to sign the coaster.

“How cute,” Pip replied, catching on that Oliver was terribly embarrassed.

Now that Oliver was out of earshot you decided to change the topic. “What’s it like, being famous?” you asked with curiosity. For some reason you hadn’t really been too bothered about the fact that these people were famous, and it certainly hadn’t stopped you behaving normally. Though the reminder that Paresh wanted Oliver’s autograph had jotted your memory.

Pipshrugged. “It’s alright. Hit and miss. Sometimes if we go out there will be a few head cases who won’t leave you alone but most people are normal enough and respect boundaries.”

You answered with an understanding nod and took a sip of your drink. You could feel that Oliver was standing behind you listening in.

“It’s alright for the lads though,” Pip continued. “They don’t mind all the attention they get from the ladies.” She grinned and Oliver must’ve shot her a look because she added solemnly, “Not Oliver though. He gets nought attention.”

“I don’t believe that,” you said, finally turning around to give Oliver a cheeky grin.

“Here.” He handed you the coaster. “Take good care of it, I usually charge a galleon for an autograph.”

You laughed. “Hmm and what did you tell me the other day about fame not going to your head? Well thank you, Paresh will be overjoyed.”

“No problem.”

“So Oliver… it was nice of you to invite me out tonight,” you said, a small part of you hoping that he'd do it again. You wished you could say something more interesting but you’d run out of topics and had an odd feeling that your behaviour was being judged by Pip. She was really keeping an eye on you and Oliver's interactions.

Nevertheless Oliver smiled. “It’s nice to see you… out… as usual.”

“You too… well… erm, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again?”

Oliver was already taking a sip of his drink so he nodded to answer your question.

You held up the coaster. “Thanks again for this. I owe ya. Pip, I’ll catch you later.”

She gave you a quick smile, but before you had fully turned away you caught her giving Oliver a rather rough nudge in the ribs. You suppressed a smile and headed downstairs to your friends.

\--

After you left, Pip wasted no time giving Oliver an earful. “Why didn’t you ask her out again you dolt?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you really that thick? She’s not exactly a troll.”

“She has a boyfriend…” Oliver said slowly, as though he didn’t want the words to come out of his mouth because then they’d be extremely true.

“What?!” This changed Phillipa’s view on you now. “Are you serious? She’s pretty damn flirty if she’s got a boyfriend…”

“Do you think she’s flirting with me?”

Pip rolled her eyes. “Wood, you’re a smashing Keeper, I’ll give you that. But you’re a bloody idiot when it comes to women.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oliver's going to get the courage to make a move soon I SWEAR ;)


	11. Run for Your Life

**July, 2000**

Even though the weather was generally miserable in England there was no excuse not to do some exercise (especially when it was not raining, and warm enough that you didn't have to wear a hoodie). Running was probably the only sort of exercise you enjoyed. It wasn’t the adrenaline rush that drew you back but the fact that you could run and think at the same time. You were a marvelous thinker. As long as you placed one foot in front of each other and watched out for holes, bumps, and cracks in the pavement then you could let your mind roam free.

Tonight your mind was busy thinking away about Steve. It had been almost two months since you had last seen him. You hadn’t even heard from him since the day he moved out but judging from his behaviour prior to your argument you were sure that he was keeping to himself and was busy sorting out his family issues. Just because Steve was getting on fine without you didn’t mean you had forgotten him. You constantly thought about what he was doing and how he was. These intrusive thoughts were extremely bad when you had nothing else to concentrate on so your evening jog was known as prime time for these thoughts to plague your mind. You wondered if Steve missed you like you missed him. You didn’t miss his hostile behaviour leading up to your break up, instead you missed seeing him sitting at your kitchen table in the morning. You didn’t miss his disinterest in your day, but you did miss his jar of marmalade in the fridge. These were all domestic things and you were aware of this and that it could be replaced by someone else. Right now you didn’t want someone else; you still wanted Steve.

Apart from Steve you were also half thinking about some of the new positions that had been advertised at Witch Weekly, particularly the writing jobs. Being a journalist scared and interested you but you couldn’t seem to rack up the courage to actually apply for a writing position just yet. None of the columns at Witch Weekly particularly took your interest yet either. You weren’t into hairstyles or clothes or who was dating who. You had to find something you were passionate about to write well about it and this was the major factor holding you back.

You had just picked up your speed a street ago only to slow it down when a familiar figure appeared out of a door in front of you. “Hiya,” you said with a puff as you came to a stop outside a two-up two-down terrace house that you assumed was Oliver’s.

“Hey.” He looked quite confused to see you being healthy and not having a pint in your hand. “How’re you?” he queried, turning back to lock his door as he awaited your response.

“Good thanks.” You watched him remove the large silver key from the hole and spin it round on his finger before placing it into his jacket pocket. “How’re you?”

“I’m well. Off to practice.”

You grinned. “That’d make sense.” You nodded at the broomstick shaped bag slung across his shoulder. “They’re not just for sweeping, are they?”

Oliver shot you an exasperated look that told you he’d heard that one before and it wasn’t funny then, and it wasn’t funny now. You laughed softly through your nose at the look on his face.

He folded his hands across his chest. His posture was relaxed and he didn’t seem to be in a rush to get to practice. “What’re you up to this evenin’?”

You shrugged, realising how boring you were. “Nothing. It was a nice night for a jog but now I’m heading home for tea,” you told him.

“Pemble Street, right? That’s not far…”

You ignored the fact that he had remembered your address. “’Bout a 5 minute walk from here.”

“Want some company?”

“Sure. You won’t be late to practice will you?”

“It starts at 7 tonight.”

You checked your watch, a look of disbelief on your face after you read the time. “It’s only just gone 6!”

Oliver laughed. “I always get there a bit early to warm up.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t you guys warm up as a team?”

“Aye.”

“So you’re doin’ a warm up for the warm up?”

“Mad, aren’t I?”

You laughed and waved a finger at him. “Oh, I’m not answering that one.”

You walked in a comfortable silence for a few seconds, only the small stones and pebble under your feet crushing and clicking against each other.

“I like your shirt,” Oliver said out of the blue.

You looked down at your t-shirt. You had forgotten that you were in your running gear. Not the nicest look and apart from the night you turned up in the pub in your pyjamas you were usually fortunate enough to run into Oliver when you looked presentable. Tonight you were make-up free with your hair pulled back off your sweaty face. You probably smelt terrible. The shirt Oliver was referring to was an old Stone Roses one. It was faded and you were quite sure there was a small rip down the bottom near the hem too. You felt embarrassed that he’d noticed it due to its tattiness but you weren’t surprised that Oliver was familiar with the band seeing as he’d mentioned he enjoyed muggle music.

“Cheers, got it at their concert actually.”

“Lucky.”

“You have really good taste in music. I’m impressed.”

“I’ve been told I’ve got good taste in a lot of things… Quidditch, for example.”

Despite it being dark now you could hear the smug grin in his voice. “Who told you that? The local nutter?”

“Which reminds me: how safe is it to be walking around here at night?”

“For someone like yourself, ya know, _big and strong_ , it’s pretty safe.”

Oliver didn’t seem to notice your flirtatious compliment. “And for someone like you?”

You had half a mind to answer back and joke that you were also big and strong but as you rounded the corner to your street you saw a dark shadowed figure sitting out the front of your place. The only person you could think who it could be was Steve. Your friends would always meet with you regularly or owl you to let you know if something unexpected was happening. Steve had been missing from your life for months now so you weren't surprised if he’d shown up unannounced. Your heart started beating wildly in your chest and your mind ran through seven different scenarios as to why he was here and how long he’d been waiting for you to return home…

“[Name]?” Oliver sounded concerned.

“ _Shit_. Sorry. What were you saying?”

“Just if this neighbourhood is safe…don’t want you to get mugged or something out here alone...”

“Yeah, sure. Safe. Look, Oliver, I’ve got to go. I’ll catch you again sometime.”

Oliver noticed that you weren’t even looking at him when you bid him farewell and hurried down the street alone. The way you were behaving was odd seeing as he’d offered to walk you back to yours and you’d rushed off before making it all the way. It wasn’t as though he’d done it to win points with you, he’d just seen that it was getting dark and thought it’d be courteous to offer to walk you back. Also he would’ve been devastated if anything happened to you that could’ve been prevented.

Oliver was half tempted to get his wand out and use ‘lumos’ to see what or _who_ had made you run off so quickly but he didn’t want to invade your privacy. Chance was that’d he bump into you again. He hoped it would be sooner rather than later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya'll bonding ~~


	12. She Came In Through The Bathroom Window

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY CHRIMMAS MY LOVES. Enjoy this early pressie. Let me know what you think of this chapter and don't kill me !

Your guess was correct; it was Steve sitting on the steps to your apartment. When you got closer to him you saw that he was hunched over with his forehead bowed down and placed in the palm of his hand, elbow propped up on his knee. He looked so worried and distraught that you hugged him when he stood up to greet you.

  
“[Name], I’m so sorry to show up like this…” he said immediately, wringing his hands nervously.

  
“Don’t worry about it, Steve. Are you alright? Come inside.”

  
Once inside your cosy apartment Steve told you that he desperately needed someone to talk to, someone who would _understand_. Steve told you that his father had passed away last week and that he’d been struggling to turn up to work on time and that his boss had threatened to fire him. You felt so bad for him that you offered him to stay the night if he wanted the company (which he accepted). Steve suggested opening a bottle of wine and after 2 hours of deep conversation you ended up doing a lot less talking in the bedroom. It seemed as though there were plenty of unresolved feelings floating around…

  
The next morning was everything you imagined it would be. It was like a scene written from one of your mad fantasies. You woke up next to Steve and carried out your morning routines like clockwork. You were wrapping a towel around your wet hair and stepping into the kitchen when you heard Steve close the fridge door.

  
“Where’s the marmalade, love?”

  
You smiled and walked over to the top cupboard, hearing his toast pop up and grabbing a new pot of the orange spread that you’d kept just in case this scenario occurred. You handed it to Steve who in return gave your temple a kiss.

  
You sat eating breakfast in peace; Steve reading the Daily Prophet and you content watching him do so. Just after 8am Steve broke the silence with a long sigh as he stretched back in his chair, reaching his arms above his head.

  
Steve pushed his round glasses up his nose. “I should get going to work. Be on time for once this week…” he said rather gloomily.

  
You reached over to squeeze his hand. “Try and have a good day. If you need me let me know.”

  
“Thank you for everything.” Steve stood up and removed his coat from the back of the kitchen chair to throw it over his shoulder. As if he read your mind he added, “I’ll see you soon.”

  
The promise of seeing Steve again was good even though you were dying to ask him what ‘soon’ meant. Tonight? Tomorrow? This weekend? Anything longer than that wasn’t ‘soon’ enough, but you didn’t want to put any more pressure of him seeing as he was having such a rough week.

  
Instead you nodded your head and stood up to place a kiss on his cheek. “See you soon.”

  
Bloody hell what WERE you putting yourself through?

 

\--

  
That Thursday night at Quidditch practice Pip was trying her very best to get to the bottom of Oliver's horrendous Keeping. She had noticed he’d been a bit distracted the last two nights and not been as quick as he usually was to block the quaffle. Pip needed to get to the bottom of it. This couldn’t go on when they had a match to play this weekend.

 

Pip bashed her shoulder into Oliver’s side. “Oi. Is this about that lass?”

  
Both of Oliver’s eyebrows rose at the same time. “What?”

  
“You let Chapman get the last 3 goals in. She’s a good Chaser but you’re a better Keeper.”

  
“I’m just tired,” Oliver lied, busying himself with unlacing his boots.

  
“Do you take me for a fool? You’re never tired at practice. You’re distracted and your minds elsewhere.”

  
Oliver shot her a look to stop pestering him. Pip wasn’t going to get anything out of him without a fight. And she must’ve been after a fight because she kicked his shoe when he didn’t respond to her.

  
Oliver huffed out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  
“A certain lass called [Name] is on your mind.”

  
Oliver gave her another look but refused to comment. He moved to changing his socks and putting on his walking shoes.

  
This time Pip sighed. “If you want my opinion, which I don't think you do, well, I think you just like the chase. You’re never short of a lass at the pub but you’re not interested in any of ‘em.”

  
Oliver craned his neck up from his kneeling position to look at Pip. He was finally interested in what she had to say. “What do you mean?”

  
“You like [Name] because she’s not like all the other girls you’ve met. She’s hard to get.”

  
Oliver looked back down at his shoes. Did he just like the fact that you were seemingly uninterested in him? Pip was right; he wasn’t lacking female company by any means. He could go home with almost any woman at the bar that he wanted to if she was up for it. It’d make sense for him to like the chase seeing as he was super competitive by nature. Perhaps if you were just another woman who was all over him because of his Quidditch status he probably wouldn’t be so interested in you.

  
But that was a fair reason to fancy you, wasn’t it? The fact that you weren’t after him for fame or money was _damn well attractive_.

  
“I guess I do like the chase a little bit,” he admitted through a mumble.

  
Pip clapped her hands together in accomplishment. “Ha! Mystery is solved then. You like her because she doesn’t throw herself at you. I guess being a Keeper you’re pretty used to deflecting things being thrown at you.” Pip pulled out some karate-like moves for embellishment.

  
Oliver rolled his eyes. “I like her for other reasons too.”

  
“Like what?”

  
“She’s easy to talk to… and fun. And smart. And interesting.”

  
It was Pip’s turn to roll her eyes and mimic someone being sick. “Let me guess, you think she’s pretty too?”

  
“Aye.”

  
“Oh, Wood, you sound in love.”

  
“No,” he added quickly, hating how defensive he sounded. “Besides what’s the point seeing as she’s dating that guy.”

  
“Are you sure? I haven’t seen them at the bar together in months.”

  
Oliver merely shrugged in response.

  
“It’s not like you to give up so damn easily, Wood. C’mon, what’s your next move?”

  
Suddenly, and out of nowhere, Oliver grinned for the first time during the conversation. Perhaps getting you to be his girl could be played out like a Quidditch match. And Oliver was good at Quidditch. If he had a plan of attack, the right moves, and the right players, then he could certainly win you over.

  
“Alright,” he said rather enthusiastically. “My first move is making sure her bloke ain’t still hanging round. And I need the team's best Chaser to help with that.”

 

"Best Chaser? Should I go get Chapman? Seeing as you let her get 3 goals in?” Pip grumbled.

  
Oliver gave her a friendly push in the shoulder when he finally got up off the wooden bench. “You’ve got to ask her about her boyfriend, but not be obvious about it. If I ask it’s too obvious.”

  
“What’s wrong with being obvious? Are you that scared of being rejected?”

  
Oliver thought for a split second. “Can’t say I like losing.”


	13. Something

** July, 2000 **

 

Your Friday at work consisted of you sitting at your desk pining over Steve. Not a whole amount of work got done. You were ready to tell  the  story  of Steve rocking up unnanounced at yours  to anyone who’d listen, and Paresh was your first victim that morning. Unfortunately the conversation didn’t pan out like you’d planned it in your head (you'd imagined Paresh telling you to elope with Steve). Paresh was still firmly team Oliver (even though you had told him there was no 'Team Oliver') . T o your annoyance Oliver was the only thing Paresh wanted to talk about and the coaster Oliver had signed that night at the pub was now proudly framed  and hung up  on the mailrooms wall.  

Despite Paresh’s ever so persuading argument (‘ _But Oliver’s really fit, like,_ **_really_ ** _fit’_ ) you couldn’t get Steve off your mind. By lunch time you’d owled your friend Jane to meet you at The Royal Oak tonight to debrief because you had already half decided that you wanted to give it another go with Steve.

 

\--

“I don’t know what to do,” you complained to your friend over a pint of cider. “It was so nice to see him again and so nice to talk to him… It felt so  _right_ …”

“I’m sure it was nice seeing him…” Jane paused and began looking around the room which meant that she was avoiding telling you something. She took a sip of her drink as if  to  purposely  create anticipation.  After she had swallowed her  drink she finally spoke. “I think you should move on,” she advised. “Because I think that  Steve's taking advantage of ya.”

You swallowed your drink hastily, eager to defend your argument. “I didn’t ask him to come over or anything, he did that by himself,” you spluttered. “What if he’s planning on getting back together with me? Why else would he show up?"

“ Because he know's youre still after him and men are pigs? I don't even have to ask if you slept  with him..." A guilty look from yourself confirmed Jane's argument. "Besides that, I know y ou guys have been through worse things than his dad’s death in the past. Steve didn’t act like that back then. Something's off about him and I don’t like it.”

“ The way he acted does worry me but people deal with things differently, don't they? And  sometimes things don’t go  as planned , right Janey?” you pleaded. You were desperately looking for her to encourage you to get back together with Steve. Any miniscule reason would give you an excuse to pursue him...

“No….” Jane began cautiously. “No, I’ll agree with you there. Sometimes things don’t go  how you'd planned it . But I don’t like how he was so quick to leave you… As horrible as it sounds \- _and i'm saying this because I love ya_ - I think his father’s death was just an excuse to leave you. I think if he truly loved you then he would’ve tried harder to make it work…”

“ Alright, Jane," you said with a defeated sigh. "Merlin's pants  you’re depressing.” 

What Jane had said was so convincing that it was hard to hear. It certainly wasn’t what you wanted to hear, even though it was quite true.  Instead of accepting this you decided drowning your sorrows would make you feel better. 

“Oi, go get us another drink, would ya?”

Jane happily obliged and when she came back from the bar the conversation moved from Steve to her new boss at work whom she fancied. In the next hour your mood changed from feeling sad for yourself to a giggling mess. 

 

\--

Puddlemere United had scored a table upstairs tonight. The night was going pretty smoothly for everyone except for Pip. Pip had been searching for you like a hawk. She was more obsessed about Oliver's plan than Oliver was. Oliver had quite forgotten about his plan because Benji had won the attention of two very attractive witches. One of them was sitting on Benji's lap and the other was sitting very close to Oliver with her hand on his leg.

Pip had been shooting both Oliver and the witch glares all night. She had tried to knock over a pint purposely to spill on the witch but Oliver's had caught the drink before it had fallen over. Stupid Oliver and his quick reflexes. 

Pip thought that all hope was lost until she recognised a brunette witch at the bar. It was the same one who had been at the bar with you one time before. The chances of you being in the pub had just risen dramatically! Pip watched the witch order two drinks before disappearing down the stairs. 

Pip rushed over to Oliver and grabbed him by the shoulders. "She's here," she sung, grinning manically. 

"Bugger off Pip, would ya?" Oliver muttered from the corner of his mouth.

Pip rolled her eyes and went back to her seat. Oliver may be distracted by that lass right now but Pip knew him well enough that as soon as you made an appearance Oliver would drop that witch quicker than Marvin James dropped the Quaffle in last weeks game against the Banchory Bangers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap lovely Readers! Where the FRIG have I been? If you read my other fic (Time) I explained myself - my laptop died and im using a MINITABLET and keyboard to write until I can afford a new laptop. And it's horrible and makes me typo like a mofo but im trying because I love you guys and I love Oliver :'(


	14. With a little help from my friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big chapter ahead my friends!

 

“I’m going to get us more drinks,” you said standing up far too confidently for someone with a noticeable wobble in their step.  

Upstairs at the bar you’d already been told twice now that you weren’t going to be served another drink. The bartender, Barry (who knew you well because you were a regular), had told you to bugger off home because you were too drunk. Each time Barry came back to where you were sitting you pestered him to get you another drink.   That was until you felt someone tap your shoulder. You whizzed around and immediately lowered your gaze to the short blonde witch in front of you.

"Pip!"

"Fancy seeing you here, [Name]!" Pip said feigning surprise "How're ya?"

"Good good, hoping to get another drink but havin' some trouble..." you admitted, craning your neck over the bar to find Barry. He was busy serving other people and ignoring your pleading looks. 

An idea sprung into Pip's head. "If I get you a drink will you answer a question for me?"

"Sure! That'd be awesome!" you replied, the drink at the forefront of your mind.

Pip squeezed in next to you and leant over the bar to place her order. Barry took a look at the grin on your face and shook his head. Deciding that you were together he shook his head and declined her order. 

You pulled a face at Barry and rolled your eyes. "Worth a shot," you said with a slight slur. "What's the question anyway?"

Pip chewed her lip, aware that you were drunk and not really wanting to take advantage of your state. Then again, Wood nearly had another lass on his lap so Pip needed an answer pronto. "Wood fancies you and wants to know if you're still dating that bloke."

If you had a drink you would have spat it out in shock. "What!?"

_Shit_. Didn't Wood tell Pip to handlle the question delicately or something? "Nothing!" Pip answered, panicking. "Forget I said that!" Oh Merlin's pants she had really cocked this up - 

Mid panic Pip realised you were laughing. Doubled over, hands on your knees, laughing. "Yeah, right. Good one, Pip," you said in between gasps for air.

A terrified look was still on Pip's face. "Ha ha ha, yes, I was joking!"

"I'm not an idiot!" you said with a grin. You shifted your weight from one leg to the other, wobbling and grabbing Pip to steady yourself. "Besides, if I was an idiot I'd still be dating Steve," you told her with another snort.

Had Pip seriously done it!? She'd not only gotten away with her slip of the tongue but had also gotten an answer to her question. She was on form tonight! Now all she had to do was tell Wood...

"Can you wait here a moment? I'm just going to nip to the loo..." Pip said more to herself as she had already begun heading back to their table.

"Wait here? Of course I can wait here!" you called out as if it were obvious. 

When Pip made it back to the table she was only just in time. The pretty brunette witch was seconds away from throwing herself at Wood. Due to her previous blunder Pip decided she'd have to be more tactical in her approach.

"WOOD!" she yelled to get his attention.

Oliver looked at her in a way that told her that he was mad that she was interupting him and that this better be good. And lucky for Pip, this was good. 

"Phase 1 of the plan has worked," Pip said cryptically. "Over by the bar." 

"What?" Oliver replied thickly. He had only had a few drinks but didn't know what on Earth Pip was on about.

"You-know-who has been spotted at the bar. Alone."

Oliver's face just twisted more in confusion. "Huh?"

"FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE WOOD [NAME] IS AT BAR AND YES, SHE'S SINGLE."

The look on Oliver's face changed quickly to surprise. "What?" he spluttered again, standing up in haste. "Where?"

"What the hell!" the pretty brunette witch shouted. "Are you freaking kidding me!?"

Oliver gave her a quick glance. "Sorry," he said insincerely. 

She gave him a disgruntled look before standing up, grabbing her friends hand and pulling her up off Benji's lap. "Come on Esmerelda, we're leaving!" she spat out spitefully. 

"What the hell is happening?" Benji protested. 

"Sorry," Oliver said to Benji, only a little bit more sincerely than before. He turned back to Pip. "So where is she?"

Pip stuck her arm out, index finger pointing to where she left you. "Word of warning, she's been drinking a lot."

Oliver gave Pip a quick nod before manouerving around the edge of the table and making his way into the crowd by the bar. He found you easily, sitting down on a stool swinging your legs. Oliver gave you a friendly side nudge to the shoulder when he reached you. He instantly regretted it because you almost wobbled off the stool. You didn't seem to mind though and when you noticed it was him your hands wrapped around his forearms to greet him. 

"Hey, Oliver!" you said with a wide grin.

"Hey." Oliver returned your grin and used the position you were in to steady you before you fell off your seat.

“Do you have a tracking spell on me?” you joked. "I always see you here!"

"Nah, it's just somewhere the team likes to hang out!"

"Ooohhhh," you agreed, nodding your head. "That makes sense; I saw Pip before actually and she  had  something  to  tell  me."

"Yeah?" Oliver felt his heart beating a little faster. He knew Pip had somehow gotten you to tell her you were single, Oliver just prayed that she did it as subtly as possible. 

You readjusted your bum on the stool and gave Oliver an odd look. You had defintely spoken to Pip tonight but for some reason you couldn't really remember what about. Finally, you shrugged. "I can't remember. Can't have been that important, ey?"

Oliver felt his heart beat slow down. "Guess not. Are you havin' a good night?" Oliver wondered who you were here with. You were certainly on your own up at the bar but you usually had friends lurking around somewhere. 

You smiled. "Yeah, s'been alright." You twisted your neck towards the bar. "Would be a better night if I could get another drink though!!" Your voice was purposely loud so Barry would hear. 

Oliver shifted his gaze from your face to the bartender who merely shook his head at you. "You aint getting another one, [Name]. Get on home and stop botherin' me," he said whilst pouring someone else a drink. Barry knew you very well and knew that 9 out of 10 times you could handle your drink. Tonight was not one of them. 

You sighed, defeated. “Fine. Night Barry,” you replied solemnly. You turned back to face Oliver. “Alright then, Oliver. No reason for me to be up here at the bar then.” 

You ungracefully manoeuvred yourself off the stool, trying not to flash your knickers under your short skirt. You didn't realise that you almost fell over and that Oliver had a tight grip on your upper arm to make sure you didn't faceplant. 

"Where are you sittin'?" he asked with a small frown on his face. Even though the majority of your interactions took place at the bar he had never seen you this way before. You could usually handle your drink and, well, tonight... not so much. Apparating alone when you were this intoxicated increased the chances of splinching too. 

"Ummmm... downstairs?" You looked at Oliver as though he could answer your question.

"Alright, let's go."

Oliver turned you by your shoulders to face the other way and then put his hand on your back to guide you through the crowd to find a face he may recognise, or one that may recognise you. He was trying to see if anyone would claim you, like you were a little missing dog. You were oblivious to Oliver’s concern and happily chatting away about something  else now. Thankfully he hadn’t moved his hand from your back because you missed the last step down and he only just managed to get a good hold on your shirt before you went face first onto the stone floor. Why on earth did women insist on wearing those stupid high heels? They were a deathtrap. The commotion you made tripping caused a group of people from the corner table to cheer and hoot with laughter so Oliver assumed that this was your group of friends. 

During the time you had been up at the bar trying to get yourself a drink Jane had been joined by Derek and Peter who you knew from mutual friends and from being at the same pub all the damn time.

“Ace entrance, [Nickname],” Peter said.

You mocked a curtesy. “Thank you, I’m here all week.”

“Um, [Name],” Jane whispered. “I don’t mean to alarm you but…” she lowered her voice, “Oliver Wood is still standing right behind ya.”

You turned around to look at Oliver. You frowned when you realised how far away he was standing. 

“Hi,” he greeted your friends. “I’m Oliver,” he told them. It was a little bit cute that even though he was famous he still introduced himself.

Jane didn’t seem to mind because she jumped up and stuck her hand out. “Hi Oliver, I’m Jane, [Name]’s best friend and your biggest fan. I loved that goal you blocked in your third game against the Willows.”

“Thanks. It was really windy that night and the Quaffle kept swerving everywhere, it was right hard judging where it was going to end up – “

“Aye! Oh, I loved that catch you did, I even saved the clipping from the Daily Prophet!”

“Alright, Jane” you said, elbowing her in the ribs. What she trying to do, upstage ya?! Oliver looked very pleased to talk about Quidditch and even though your mind was quite hazy this hadn’t gone unnoticed by yourself. 

You went to take a step backwards but tripped over the tables wooden leg. Lucky Oliver wasn’t too far behind you and could steady you. 

“She aint right,” Oliver said with a small grimace. “How does she usually get home when she’s this way?”

“I am here, you know,” you muttered. “I can apparate fine -“ - Four voices (including Oliver’s) chimed NO together – “…I mean I can walk home, I’ll be right…”

“I guess I can take her,” Jane offered. “Just let me finish my drink –“

“I can take her,” Oliver offered. “She doesn’t live far from me so I can walk with her.” 

Jane pretended not to notice how hastily Oliver had suggested taking you himself. She knew you two had been spending some time together and was probably your second biggest fan (after Paresh). She also thought Oliver seemed trustworthy enough to take you home. “Are you sure?& she asked, eyeing him up.

"No bother," he said with a shrug. 

Jane grinned. "Don’t let her forget her coat.” She threw your coat over towards you which Oliver caught with ease. 

_Gees, thanks for sticking up for me, Jane. You could’ve told Oliver that I was a professional at getting home on my own but no, you’re dumping me with him like some hapless drunk child…_ You laughed out loud at your own thoughts _… hapless drunk child… why the hell was Oliver staring at you like you had two heads?!_

You tried your hardest not to look at any of your friends because even though you were too drunk to apparate by yourself at the moment you could probably have given it another 20 minutes and gotten back home alone OK. And if you made eye contact with Jane she’d be grinning at you like an idiot and you’d die of embarrassment. It was already going to be hard enough to live this down tomorrow. 

Oliver walked with you back to the stone steps leading upstairs. 

“You don’t actually need to walk me home, Oliver. I’m sure I could manage on me own,” you told him  sternly, clutching the staircase railing for dear life. You were really bad at convincing him how sober you were. 

Oliver had his hand on your back again, guiding you upstairs. “Why did you drink so much tonight?”

“I – I – What? I don’t know! It just sort of happened. One of those nights.”

_Steve. It was because of Steve messing with my feelings._

Oliver hmmed at your response, not really buying it. “Can you wait here by the bar for a moment while I get my coat?”

“Yessir.”

Oliver was pleased to find you at the bar chatting to Barry when he returned. He had told his group that he was leaving and had hurried back to you as quickly as he could, hoping that you hadn’t tried to leave on your own. You were still in good spirits and gave him a lopsided smile when he approached. 

Once outside the cold air hit your face and you exaggerated a big shiver. “Bloody hell! Gettin’ into summer and it’s still freezin’ at night! What a load of bollocks!” You began to walk down the street with your heels clicking madly on the cobble stones. You only stopped when you realised Oliver wasn’t by your side. “You comin’ or what!?” you shouted. 

Oliver was still looking at you with amusement. He watched you march back to him and grab his hand, pulling him a step to get him moving. Even though you had been complaining about the cold your hand was warm and soft and Oliver liked holding it. You kept him entertained the rest of the short walk home by telling him stories about who lived in what house. Oliver was sure you were making up some of these stories (a witch with a 3 headed salamander who you swore once ate a stray cat) but it made him laugh all the same. 

It took you a few seconds to realise that you had arrived at your house and once you were aware of this you removed your hand from Olivers-  _eh? Why had you been holding his hand?-_ and opened your handbag. After a bit of hopeless rummaging around you pointed your wand at the opening and muttering ‘accio keys’.  Oliver snorted at your laziness.

“S’quicker that way,” you assured him. You jammed the keys into the keyhole and Oliver heard them click. 

Oliver thought that’d be the end of the night now that’d he’d gotten you home safe. He’d expected you to shuffle on in and probably pass out on the couch, maybe your bed if you could make it that far. Instead you surprised him by turning around, eyes wide and a smile still on your face.

“Hey thanks, Oliver.” You were standing on the first step to your apartment and were eye level with him. You leant over and gave him a hug, resting your chin on his shoulder. When you pulled away you both lingered for a second, as if something else was supposed to happen. You blinked a couple of times to clear your head before flashing him a smile. You bid him goodnight and turned around to pull open your big wooden door.

Closing it once you were inside your back hit the door and you slid down it until you were in a crouching position. Your hand covered your face and you squeezed your eyes shut. How the hell could you have feelings towards Oliver when you were still so hung up on Steve?  


	15. Misery

Saturday evening at Quidditch practice Pip and Benji were quick to ask Oliver about the night before. The large grin on Pip’s face was from how proud she felt at holding up her part of the plan: getting you to confirm that you were single. Benji was just grinning because he thought Oliver had spent the night with you. Everything had gone accordingly. 

When Oliver arrived at practice later than usual (still on time) he was grumbling to himself and did not notice the broad smiles on his teammates faces. “I spent all morning trying to figure out how to get past Hansen’s dive with the wind speed predicted for the match but I don’t know if there’s a way ‘round it.”

The look on Pip’s face dropped straight away when Oliver placed a large piece of parchment on the bench. “What do you mean you spent all morning doing _that?_ ”

“You didn’t spend the night with your bird?” Benji questioned, just as concerned as Pip. 

“No, I told you I was just dropping her home.”

Benji scowled. “She didn’t invite you in?” He never took a girl home who he knew would pie him off like that.

“About Hansen...” Oliver said, pointing at the parchment. 

Pip shooed the parchment out of the conversation with a wave of her left hand. “Oh no, you’re not getting out of this that easily! Not after all the grafting I did last night for you.”

“And the bird I gave up for ya!” Benji added. 

Oliver glared at Pip, flatting the parchment out on the seat next to him. “What hard work?”

“I got her to tell me she’s single!”

“Well it’s none of ye business anyway, both of ya’s.” 

Benji chucked his walking shoes into his locker with a loud clang and sat down opposite Oliver to tie up the laces of his training shoes.

“So you didn’t score then.”

Before Oliver could answer Pip butted in. “Merlin’s sake, Wood. You’ve got to plan your next move in advance!” She grabbed the parchment off the bench and magicked it up into the air in front of them. “This is you, and this is [Name].” As soon as Pip spoke a little stick figure drawing of a man and woman appeared at opposite sides on the back of the parchment. Pip knew better than to erase Wood’s work.

“And this,” Benji contributed, raising his wand, “This is Marnie. She’s a witch down at The Oak who would love to get to know you.” 

“Yeah, right,” Oliver said, rolling his eyes. He had to admit he was a little intrigued with what his teammates were doing. He watched the new female stick figure ‘Marnie’ move closer to the stick figured version of himself. Marnie gave Oliver a kiss on the cheek and the stick version of you threw it’s tiny arms in the air.

“Marnie is here to help [Name] see how desirable you are,” Pip continued. 

“How does another woman throwing herself at me make [Name] realise I’m desirable?”

Benji clapped his hand down on Oliver’s shoulder. “It’s called jealousy, mate.”

“At the moment [Name] has you eating out of the palm of her hand. But once you appear uninterested in her that’ll be the moment that – “ Pip waved her wand and the stick figure version of yourself moved closer to Oliver. Marnie disappeared and Oliver and yourself kissed. “[Name] will pursue you instead of you pursing her.” 

Oliver’s eyebrows drew close together in concern. “And you’re sure this will work?” 

Benji grinned. “Nothin’ like makin’ a bird jealous. Trust me.” 

\--

Monday morning came round and you were still feeling sorry for yourself. Not only because it was Monday morning but because your hangover hadn’t completely gone anyway yet and the first thing you had to deal with Sylvia and Katerina gossiping loudly in the lift, followed by a stack of parchment on your desk to be edited.

By 10am Paresh had given up and came to sit on your desk to talk about the weekend. One of the table legs must have been shorter than the others because Paresh’s body weight was making it wobble back and forth which made you feel even more nauseous.

“Repairo,” you muttered to stop the wobbling, lazily pointing your wand underneath your desk. You lifted your head up from your hands to give Paresh a fed up stare.

Once Paresh had seen your face that was enough to get him started. “Had a big weekend, did you?”

“Friday night,” you groaned.

“You shouldn’t drink so much,” he chastised.

“Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Probably because you were already too drunk.”

“Oh go away, Paresh.” You put your head back down on the table over your crossed arms.

“Did you see your hot Quidditch playing fella?”

“Did I not just tell you to go away?”

Paresh scooted his bottom further onto your desk, shoving some parchment out of the way. “That’s a yes then. Spill.”

“Nothing to spill.”

“Did you kiss?”

“Are you mad?”

“C’mon, [Name],” Paresh whined. “Give me something.”

“I don’t remember anything!” You looked up at Paresh and grimaced. “I was very drunk. He walked me home.”

“Oh my God! He fancies you.”

“He was looking after my hopeless arse.”

The memory was making you feel awful. How could you have let someone you didn’t know that well take you home? You were old enough to look after yourself. And the fact that it was Oliver Wood was horrifying. Oliver could have any woman he wanted in that pub – why was he walking you home? You were a burden that night… an annoying, clumsy, unattractive, incompetent… burden. You felt sick to your stomach. Really sick. In fact…

You pushed your chair back from the desk and bolted to the toilet to throw up. Probably not from the thought of Oliver Wood but from your hangover.

When you came back to your desk Paresh was still there. “Don’t say anything,” you warned.

“Just one…”

“No.”

“Please.”

“Fine. What?”

“You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“Right. Bugger off, Paresh. I mean it.”

Paresh gave a hoot of laughter before sliding off your desk and going back to the mailroom.

  
\--

After lunch Paresh returned to you but this time he had a purpose – you’d received a lunch time owl from Jane. Jane sent you owls when she was bored at work. It made it look like you were both doing something important when really you weren’t. Paresh knew who the owl was from because he recognised the owl but he would never tell anyone else the little thing you had going on with your friend. He didn’t mind sending the company owls out for you because he generally got to hear what you were discussing.

_“Are you feeling any better after the weekend? After Wood took you home, that is... -Jane x”_

_“Still feel horrible. Physically, and mentally. –[Name]”_

_“Come off it how can someone feel bad knowing that Wood fancies them? – Jane x”_

You bit your lip at Janes last message. You weren’t sure if Oliver potentally having a small liking towards you made Friday night better or worse. Friday night would make more sense if he did fancy you but you weren’t ready to believe that yet. He had absolutely no reason to fancy you. You had plenty of reasons to fancy him but you hadnt given that thought a second chance because this was Gryffindor’s most desirable upperclassman and Quidditch Captain and you were, well, you. There was a reason Oliver hadn’t remembered you from Hogwarts, and that reason was that _Oliver Wood was out of your league._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ive been stuck in a rut with this fic not going to lie. Hoping to get back into it xx


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